


Strange Plumage

by Thenakedcat



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: An Angel and a Demon Walk into a Cottage and Ask for Help Banging, An Unfortunate Number of References to Bird Sex, Aziraphale was Heaven's Village Bicycle and We Love Him for That (So Does Crowley), Explicit Language, F/M, House Cats as Incarnations of Divine Chaos, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Emotional Abuse, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Multi, Ominous Tags Aside Most of this Fic is Sex-Positive Farce, Our Immortal Genderfluid Bodies Ourselves, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sex Education, Traditional Duties of a Village Witch, Wanton Abuse of the Common Footnote
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 07:09:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21798547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thenakedcat/pseuds/Thenakedcat
Summary: When she settled down in Tadfield as the Official Village Witch, Anathema expected that she'd have to give some teens The Talk and maybe keep a stash of condoms on hand above and beyond what she and Newt required for personal use.Of COURSE the Ineffable Idiots would confront her with a far more complicated problem: how do two newly-freed celestial deskslaves have angelic intercourse without risking an unplanned (and quite possibly unprecedented) pregnancy?The answer will require all her talents as a witch and a herbalist, sterling emotional support from her boyfriend, and enough tequila to drown a burro.Written as a follow-up to Idiopathicsmile's amazing nesting ficBirds of a Feather.
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Past Aziraphale/Other(s)
Comments: 86
Kudos: 257
Collections: Most Favs





	Strange Plumage

**Author's Note:**

  * For [idiopathicsmile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/idiopathicsmile/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Birds of a Feather](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19705429) by [idiopathicsmile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/idiopathicsmile/pseuds/idiopathicsmile). 

> I have _no Earth-damned idea_ how "sex-ed fic" became my genre of choice but I fully intend to ride this crazy train as far as it goes. You can probably make sense of this fic without having read Smile's [Birds of a Feather](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19705429), but why would you ever deprive yourself of hilarious, angsty, adorable nesting fic?? So much love to Smile for reading this in dribs and drabs over the course of several months as my fibromyalgia made writing increasingly difficult.
> 
> A big gold star to anyone who catches the two _Welcome to Nightvale_ references I snuck in! And a big gold apology in advance to anyone who is going to attempt to read through the truly ridiculous number of footnotes on this nonsense on mobile. In my own defense, _Good Omens_ is part of the Pratchett oeuvre, and if you aren't telling at least half of a Pratchettesque story through footnotes and parentheticals, you aren't really trying.__

When Crowley and Aziraphale had sat down in the cozy parlour of Jasmine Cottage and told her what they needed, Anathema’s reaction had been a stare as if aliens had just landed _without_ a message of universal-peace-cosmic-harmony-and-suchlike, a single utterance of “...what”, and a 30-second lapse into horrified silence.

At the 25-second mark, Aziraphale nudged her foot under the coffee table, out of the vague apprehension that use of the phrase “soul condoms” in any conceivable context counted as voiding the warranty on a mortal brain and there was going to be some unusually dodgy miracling required to fix it.

Crowley hadn’t bothered to worry, as his mental arithmetic said that any normal non-witch human would need a full minute at minimum to shove down the internal screaming and get on with things. Instead, he took the opportunity to savor that Anathema’s rhetorical question had come out as a rounded British “wot” instead of a flat American “wut”—and it was comforting to know he wasn’t the only one going a tad native in the heat of a new relationship.

Anathema proved herself a true Nutterwitch, though, rebooting not just in record time but straight into frantic action. Jerking open desk drawers, snatching out a brand new pack of index cards and a sparkling crystal pendulum, barking orders in three different directions.

To the angel: “Your _least_ inaccurate texts on nephilim. Here. Now.”

To the demon: “All your best tequila. Here. Double-now.”

Up the stairs to the bedroom: “NEWT, GET MY HERBARIUM. AND THE ASPIRIN. AND YOUR ASS DOWN HERE. NOW.”

Newton appeared in the doorway holding the herbarium and the aspirin out in front of him like votive offerings. “But it’s only been three weeks since—” He paused. The events of three weeks prior had been a bit trying, certainly1, but not in any way that involved two shame-faced supernatural beings pouring shots and getting the salt and lime ready.

Anathema added the herbarium to the array of occult literature that now occupied a wide swath of the floor and stationed the aspirin on the mantelpiece for later. Then she downed a full shot neat. (“That’s _añejo_,” Crowley muttered, “some respect please!” Not that he’d bought it of course, but one could at least spare a thought for the cactus.)

“Right!” She announced in a voice that shone with bright, taut “do notte ye fuqk wif mee”. “Well, Newt my dear, it appears that I’ve been called upon to perform one of the oldest and most...perhaps not quite sacred in this case...duties of the village witch: to provide instruction and encouragement to starcrossed couples who need to know the ways of love and have nowhere else to turn. And sometimes that requires revealing the ways of freaky eldritch mindlove and the couple are ancient stone-cold idiots.

“So. Darling. That means as the consort of the village witch, your old and...well maybe not entirely profane either...duty is: EITHER to go upstairs, put a pillow over your head for the next several hours, and then venture back down to play Hangover Monitor; OR to stay here, get plastered with the rest of us, and act as my emotional support human.”

No one had ever accused Newton Pulsifer of intestinal fortitude (if anything, they were more likely to accuse him of irritable bowel syndrome), but he’d found a lodestone in human form and wasn’t about to leave her side even for the threat of the worst iteration of The Talk in 6,000 years. “With you to the End, babe...oh goddddddd…,” he managed to gasp out as he sank down in a chair for his own turn in brain time out. Anathema planted a fond kiss on his temple as she dropped side-straddle into his lap. Then she wrapped his fingers around a shot glass for when he came back to himself.

Crowley put down his own glass and sulked at her, full of resentment at being called an idiot2 when the room also contained a barely-deflowered walking techbane3. “How’ve things been going between you two, then? Caused any more failures of global defense networks?”

“Not that I know of. I take dictation for emails to his mom.” Anathema’s stern schoolmarm gaze softened as she picked up a stack of index cards and started labelling each one. “We’re both still figuring out who we are without Agnes or computer engineering but it’s better together. Attend a lot of anti-Brexit and global warming rallies, help Adam clean up the occasional oopsie-doopsie reality manipulation, go rambling in Hogback Wood for medicinal plants… Oh, and Newt’s really appreciated the lessons, Aziraphale4. The local historical society offered him an internship. Unpaid for now but it could lead to more down the road.”

Newton hit his hard reboot5 and dove for the tequila. Coughing through the burn, he wheezed, “Right. Okay. I’m Celestial Sex Ed teacher’s aide. That is a thing that is happening. ‘Thema, are you _sure_ you don’t need any bananas for this??”

She patted his back soothingly and resumed The Glare at her pupils, brandishing the first card. “DO we need the bananas, gentlebeings, or is there at least some groundwork laid?”

It was Aziraphale’s turn to take offense. “My dear girl, I’ve run a bookstore in _Soho_ for the past 200 years. Give me a modicum of credit, technological developments in latex haven’t _entirely_ passed me by. And I’m fairly certain the use of bananas in instructional contexts was Crowley’s idea to start with6.”

“Corrupting an entire fruit,” his demon recalled wistfully. “My absolute signature move yet it still took a solid hour to explain to Hastur how that one counted as sin.”

“Yes it does require some imagination doesn’t it… At any rate, you can assume our current Efforts wouldn’t come with risk of non-miraculous conception and we’re able to prevent it should that change.”

Anathema’s glower did not slacken. “Does that include non-human forms? If we have to talk about bird sex or snake penises, Crowley’s going to need to fetch his vodka stash as well.”

Aziraphale drowned a heartfelt groan in a shot. Crowley basked in the warm glow of revenge. “If the issue comes up, we’ll find a discreet ornithologist or herpetologist. No offense but I don’t trust you as a veterinarian.”

“None taken, with relief.” The witch checked off Card #1 (“Protection of external physical anatomy”) with a flourish and shuffled to #2. Her nose wrinkled in distaste as she reached for a treatise on succubi and flipped to the chapter on corporation. “Pressing on then. If we’re specifically looking at supernatural means, it’s time for an internal organ roll call. We can start with livers, present and accounted for.” 

The demon was dubious—he hadn’t made it through 6,000 years of wars, plagues, and poor driving practices by worrying about what his innards were up to7. As far as he was concerned, staying alive was their own damn problem to sort out. “How much does that really even matter when nothing’s getting in?”

Newt peeked out around Anathema’s shoulder. “Maybe you should have asked the teenage virgin that, on the donkey ride to Bethlehem?”

It was a point strong enough to make everyone in the room pause and Aziraphale send a silent “_Ave Maria gratia plena_, so sorry we’re having a drunken discussion of your intimate regions, darling” Heavenward.

“Exactly right; five points to Hufflepuff, Mr. Pulsifer. Without knowing your current internal anatomy, how will you recognize if it suddenly changes? Now, let’s talk about how to tell a uterus from a bladder...”

They were down most of a handle by the time the discussion of different types of smooth muscle contractions and reasons for variability in size wound up with Aziraphale’s fingertips buried deep in Crowley’s abs. For science. Really. “Mmmmh...feels the same kind of scrummy as before. If you’re quite sure you didn’t have one to start with, dearest, I think we’re safe for now.”

Crowley waggled his eyebrows with invitation, sunglasses tilting half off his nose. “We could always have a closer look…”

“THAT ROUND OF AUDIENCE PARTICIPATION IS OVER, THANKS VERY MUCH.” Anathema and Newt had just stumbled back in the room from a supply run with a silver bowl of water and an unopened pack of sewing pins (Anathema) and a yellow bowl of corn chips and a jar of salsa (Newt). Aziraphale kindly miracled the empty shot glasses off the coffee table to make room for the bowl of water8. 

Anathema made an unsteady check mark on index card #2 and shuffled to #3. “Your physical bodies check out, all well and good. Just pause and do a quick tally on a regular basis, keep watching for any changes you yourselves didn’t make. Now we need to kick things up a couple planes of existence.” She offered the packet of pins across the table, dropping into an almost-dignifed zazen. "One drop of blood each. No glamour to make it look red; might occlude the reading. Who volunteers as tribute?"

Crowley was about to ask what the fuck the witch was doing but got cut off by Aziraphale lunging9 across the table to grab a pin. “Ooooh dear girl I had _no_ idea you used lecanomancy as well as pallomancy _please_ do let me have a look at your ritual basin some time _is_ it a family heirloom—”

Oh right. Prophecy groupie. The term “football widow” flitted through the demon’s wobbly brain and he felt very glad that true seers were thin on the ground in this era. He didn’t much like his angel’s attention focused on not-Crowley people...no matter _how_ adorable that wide-eyed enthusiasm might be. “Thought you could read auras just by looking—what do you need all this for?” (The interruption got him the kind of angelic glare that went along with dog-earing pages in books.)

“_Normally_ it would be no problem but. Well. Normal went out the window as soon as an angel and a demon hooked up in a _nest_. Your celestial signatures are smeared all over each other like sloppy dorm room makeout time at clown college10 and I need more than just a surface impression. Ready, babe?” 

Newt swallowed his mouthful of chips and settled on the floor behind Anathema - arms circling her waist and face buried in the nape of her neck. “Ready.”

Aziraphale pricked the pad of his left ring finger11 and squeezed. A single drop of golden ichor fell to ripple the mirror-smooth plane of the water. Anathema drew in a deep breath as her eyes refocused somewhere far far away… and so did Newt? Why?? Crowley had no idea what was going on there, but his knowledge of and interest in both divination and human couples’ bonding practices were pretty much nil, so whatever.

What did worry him was a fleeting glimpse of color in the depths of the bowl as the blood dispersed. Red? Black? Maybe both? He lifted his glasses for a better look but saw only slowly diluting gold. Trick of the light? The last time he’d been pissed enough to start seeing things they were still putting oil of wormwood and methanol in the drinks12.

Anathema was muttering under her breath, swirling the bowl from time to time as the ripples faded away. At last she dragged her gaze back up, with a gasp as if she’d been beneath the water’s surface. Newt let go of her to grab them both fresh glasses of tequila. 

Aziraphale clapped his hands together in contentment. “That was a joy to watch, my dears, it’s been ages since I’ve seen a joint scrying done properly. Keep practicing and you might outstrip Agnes herself.”

Newt had a small proud smile on his face as Anathema licked salt off his wrist. “To be honest I’m not sure if all our prophecies being nice and accurate is the best outcome for free will. But we’ve got a pretty good track record thus far.”

His girlfriend was also preening a little at the compliment. “Going to take five before doing the second reading - your aura is bright enough that my Third Eye has afterimages. Didn’t see any of the, erm, _sproutings_ that indicate a new being forming.”

“_Sproutings_.” This time, Crowley wasn’t even offended on Aziraphale’s behalf so much as just on general horticultural principle.

“Look, if you’ve got a better word to describe what a gravid soul looks like, I’m all ears. Until then just be real glad I didn’t ask either of you to piss on grains of wheat13. Anyway, your boyfriend’s not any more _or_ less human and demon than he’s been since the world reset, so. Yay team.”

She could divine from their expressions (no bowl required this time) that some part of what she said was Big Damn News. “...seriously, you both failed to notice your MASSIVE mutual pining _and_ the changes in your essences? What have you been UP to for the last 6,000 years, besides alcoholism14??”

“How.” Aziraphale’s voice failed for a moment. “How much is non-angelic now. As opposed to...Saturday Evening15.” He wasn’t afraid of Falling, as such. Humans and demons could be perfectly decent if they so chose—present company proved that beyond doubt. But he would no more give up angeldom than he would ask Crowley to renounce demonhood. Setting aside professional affiliations was easy enough; their essential natures were quite another matter.

Anathema ran a dampened finger around the edge of the basin, producing a soft yet penetrating hum. “It’s…a little stripe of each, braided around each other? Narrow, but running clear through-and-through. When I first saw you at the airbase, all I could tell was that your aura had a not-angel cast in places. Those cloudy bits pulled together into focus when you challenged Gabriel’s understanding of the Plan. The next time we met up face-to-face Adam had already made his overnight changes. By then I could make out two distinct strands and guess their nature.”

“When you first saw me, dear, I’d just spent several hours cohabiting with Madame Tracy. Is it at all possible Adam failed to cleave us cleanly and some...extraneous influences...snuck in?”

“The strands aren’t _extraneous_, they’re integrated parts of you! Through-and-through, like I said. And I highly doubt Madame Tracy or Adam were the original sources, considering that Crowley showed up to the base wearing his own skin and the same clouds in his aura, just with the colors reversed. Then, when he stood up to Satan, bam. Clear bright line.” With the confidence unique to the young and mortal, she brandished the pins again. “Replace the water and keep your eyes on the bowl this time.”

“Then let’ssssss _get on with it_.” Crowley was the one to snap to refresh the water, just as desperate for answers as Aziraphale but much less willing to sit debating over it. One drop of black ichor16 broke the surface just as Newt and Anathema scrambled back into divining position with a flurry of elbows and long hair. Two human heartbeats passed as it rippled and spread. Then, unmistakable once you were looking for it, a flash of mortal red followed by angelic gold. Aziraphale’s left hand flailed out and found Crowley’s right, squeezing almost to the point of pain. Their free hands groped for the chips and tequila because coping mechanisms die hard.

The angel paused in his assault on the chip bowl as his eye lighted on their linked hands. It kindled a spark of intuition. “‘Through-and-through’, she said. Not just ‘in entirety’ but ‘in and then out again’17...” His face contorted in concentration, eyes flickering in search of something beyond normal vision. Two fingers plucked the air like a harp string.

Next to him Crowley jumped halfway out of his own skin18. The sensation had been like calling up a middling-sized miracle, a signal flare of infernal power...but the call had come from outside him. “What the fuck what the fuck did Beez finally decide to make their move while we’re drunk and _getting the fucking Fucking Talk_—” Aziraphale plucked again. The infernal power was replaced by a wave of something more like witchcraft, earthy and of Earth. “—wait _how are you doing that, angel_.”

Anathema and Newt surfaced from the bowl with another gasp of air. She toppled sideways clutching her temples. “Aaaaaaaah prisoner’s cinema19! Why did I think this was worth it??” 

Her boyfriend rubbed soothing circles between her shoulder blades while she tried to blink away the phantoms. “You said something about ‘indebted for life and our kids’ lives too’. Think we might be banking miraculous favors for the grandkids by now.”

“Three or four generations of a family would be in keeping with tradition,” Aziraphale contributed off-handedly, his focus elsewhere. “My love, I do believe at last we’ve found how the princes of Heaven and Hell failed to notice our auras were out of place when we entered their realms.”

Crowley was less than perfectly satisfied with this explanation. “When I agreed to follow your barmy interpretation of that even barmier prophecy, you TOLD me it was because they have zero imagination and know jack shit about who we really are, so it wouldn’t never even occur to them to check. Are you saying now you were wrong??”

“Oh I have no doubt their indifference helped us along, but had it been any other angel walking into Hell wearing your face, Beelzebub would have caught on soon enough. In truth I had no idea why Agnes thought we could pull it off...but she said we would, _so we did_. We can draw on each other, dearest, even across planes of existence. Must have done so unwittingly.” The angel’s sweet, tipsy, wondering smile stretched a little further into something with bladed edges. “And now that we know, we can do _so much more_.”

Crowley leaaaaned down the couch, right up into Aziraphale’s personal space. “Angel, just so’s you know, telling me to walk into Heaven on your blind faith in a long-dead witch is exactly why I love you and also exactly why _I want to strangle you_.20”

Aziraphale patted his check fondly. “I’d expect nothing less.”

Newt paused in his comforting for a moment to gawp open-mouthed. In a hoarse whisper, he asked the universe at large, “How d’you two manage to make the _flirting_ more eye-searing than the groping??” Anathema had recovered enough to slash a trembling check-mark across the whole of Card #3, but still handed the next one in the stack to Newt to read aloud. He cleared his throat yet somehow succeeded in sounding hoarser afterwards. “Topic Number Four: What in the blithering stars does soul-fricking actually entail?21”

All eyes in the room (and one pair of designer sunglasses) turned to Aziraphale. He looked back at Crowley, nonplussed. “Darling, you were party to the goings-on too! Don’t feign ignorance.”

The demon shrugged. “Not feigning anything—I just don’t have any explanation of what we did that doesn’t sound like Walt Whitman on an acid trip trying to describe the color purple to a blind man.”

The humans in the room were treated to the rare and unexpected spectacle of an angel abruptly realizing that _perhaps_ he has made A Mistake. “But...but I _told_ you ‘temporarily merging our divine essences’ and then we did _just that_. You’re no less incorporeal than I am, surely you know how our true forms operate.”

“Angel. Take a bloody second and think about exactly how good I’m _not_ with any kind of arcane magic...and then take another and consider how strenuously I’ve avoided assuming anything _but_ physical forms for the last 6,000 years. I have some vague ideas as to what might have happened but if you asked me to, as the witch put it, ‘soul-frick’ you right now on this couch, I wouldn’t even know how to get us _started_.”

Aziraphale was more-or-less saved from having to answer his husband’s implied criticism by Anathema wobbling to her feet and administering a far more direct reproof. The first smack from the stack of index cards (wielded as R.P. Tyler might a rolled-up copy of _The Daily Mail_ at Dog’s latest transgression) landed on his right cheek. Rather than turning the other towards her, he opted to raise his arms against further blows.

“IN. FORMED. CON. SENT. BAD. ANGEL. FOR. SHAME.”

“YOUR POINT IS WELL-TAKEN, MA’AM, WOULD YOU PLEASE DESIST?”

As the witch retreated to plop into her consort’s lap, Instructional Glare now back in full force, Aziraphale uncurled himself from his defensive crouch. “Angelic intercourse is...well, there are much better words for it in Enochian and they really don’t translate adequately into English. In the most basic sense it is just the merging of essences. Our true forms—demons and angels alike—have shapes to them but they’re...permeable?...insubstantial?...free-flowing?...in a way that physical bodies are not. 

“And that’s the central mass, even, what humans think of as our haloes are part of us in the same way the breath in your lungs right this moment is part of you but still in gaseous state. So much space between electrons, you know, and particles of essence aren’t even bound by electrostatic attraction. Two angels in true form could pass right through each other without feeling more than a shiver, if they didn’t intend their selves to mingle.” He gazed at Crowley with an expression of divinest regret. “When you were wide open to my vibrato in the blink of an eye, dearest, I assumed you’d got the gist of what we would be doing and took it as consent. Next time I promise to ask in a way you’ll better understand.”

He was profoundly relieved22 that Crowley’s expression spoke more of dawning comprehension than post-assault trauma, though that didn’t soothe away all the guilt. “The vibrato, that was the weird sound you made just before we both turned into celestial bits-and-pieces? Right after you pressed our foreheads together?”

“Yes, precisely! In order for our essences to interact instead of just sliding past one another, our particles have to be oscillating in harmony. The vibrato is like a tuning fork both partners can orient towards. Then the act itself is a...shifting up and down harmonics, like a carillon23 ringing the changes. With corporations sitting in the way, it’s hard to transmit the correct vibrato without physical contact. The connection between our essences would have made harmony much easier than usual.” The regret was still there on Aziraphale’s face but the focus had shifted to something dulled by the passage of millennia.

“The very last time Samyaza came a-wooing24 we spent all night trying and failing to reach resonance. On his next trip down to Earth, he decided human prostitutes were more certain satisfaction and one thing lead to another until, well—” With unerring precision he scooped up a vellum manuscript from the floor, flipped to one particular page, and jabbed a finger at a distressingly graphic illumination. “—_that_.”

Anathema peered at the image. “Wow. I’ve had some calamitous hookups in my time, but _that_ takes the cake.”

“Yes, after _that_ unpleasantness, I decided that God would not have given human bodies the capacity for orgasm even without chance of conception if She didn’t intend it to be _used_. Partner entirely optional, even. In that respect you have a distinct advantage over celestial intercourse.”

“I have to give it to the old girl,” Crowley muttered, “if She hadn’t created that safety valve I would have discorporated the first time I saw you dressed Egyptian-style.” Then his expression morphed into incredulity. “Not even going to bother with ‘a-wooing’, but _Samyaza_, angel?? You were miles out of his league even _before_ he landed Downstairs.”

Aziraphale patted his demon’s knee with a sigh of resignation. “My love, the Heavenly Host rates my desirability quite differently than you do. And I was drunk and lonely.”

The witch’s head snapped up from the lurid manuscript, following the thread of a sudden revelation. “No masturbation in angel sex. Is it strictly a two-being activity or are threesomes even possible?”

The intensity in her tone made everyone sit up a little straighter. “If the water cooler chatter in Heaven is to be believed, challenging but still very much possible. You think someone might try to intrude on our privacy?” 

“Both parties vulnerable and distracted, lots of celestial power getting sloshed around...it would be a prime opportunity to cause trouble. We’ll have to account for that in the, um. Prophylactic.” Anathema picked up the fifth index card of the evening. “Speaking of which, the end product here needs to be something you two can apply on your own and keep safe from tampering. Are you looking for a ritual or for a potion? Spell would probably last longer, potion is harder to mess with from afar.”

Crowley slid a little further down in the couch cushions—which by now meant he was at risk of joining three hair elastics and 38p in the gap between them. “Yeaaaaaaaah as much as SOMEone here might enjoy Latin chant as foreplay, let’s not hang our safety on being able to magick while horny25. Anyway, we’re Heaven and Hell’s respective experts on dealing with corporeal life. Might as well get some use out of millennia of meatbag trouble-shooting.”

At a nudge and a murmur from Anathema, Newt unearthed the Lisa Frank three-ring binder26 that held the Device witches’ collected knowledge of medicinal plants and flipped to the tab labelled “Family Planning”. His eyes widened as he scanned down the index. “I know you’ve been doing witchcraft a lot longer than I have, but some of these ingredients sound dangerous. Mum actually warned me about not eating wild carrots as a kid.”

Anathema flapped a placating hand in his general direction. “As long as you can tell wild carrot from poison hemlock, it’s benign enough to use as seasoning. Pennyroyal is the real kicker, the difference between therapeutic and fatal doses is razor-thin.” She had her crystal pendulum out now, dangled over the pages of the herbarium, watching not just its sway but the flashes of the cut-glass facets. “Too much of anything will kill you in the end. It all comes down to concentration, exposure...and vector. Hmm. Tisane or salve? Internal or external, either way the physical effects have to transfer into the higher planes.” The last sentence seemed to be addressed to the pendulum more than to any of the human-adjacent beings in the room.

Newton’s gaze was also drawn to the glinting pendulum. His features slackened for a few moments as if hypnotized before jolting back. “Shifting from one plane to another—like putting away their—”

Anathema picked up his train of thought before the sentence was even finished. “_Of course_, and it’s a natural analogue to the nesting too. Oh Newt _honey_ we’ll make an occultist of you yet.” She pressed her palms to his cheeks and her lips to his for long, long moment. Long enough for all of Newt’s vertebrae to forget what they had been doing so he slumped to the ground when she let go to clap her hands for attention.

(Ever distractible, Aziraphale and Crowley had sidetracked into an exchange of keen whispers. “—n’t care that you’ve had a lot of exes, just so long as the rest treated you better than _that_ arse.” “Shh, don’t fret over it. After that I learned to break things off when my needs were ignor—”)

“Honestly, the Them are easier to keep on task! May they not discover tequila for many years yet. May they also never require feather-safe contraceptives. I need to know what kind of preening you do.”

She was faced with a lot of nonplussed blinking. “You want his manicurist’s phone number or something? I mostly use miracles instead of styling products but there’s a brand of gel that got me through the wet-look era…”

“WOW NO. Yet another mental image to drink away, yeesh. No, I need to know how you vain bastards keep your wings tidy. If you have the dust bath kind of feathers we’re back to Square One. Most of the potential ingredients require some liquid base.”

“Oh THAT—yeah it’s oil-based, should be in the clear. Or at least it’s oil-based _when we bother to do it more than once a century and don’t have to comb out a ton of grubby molt_.” Crowley shot a disapproving glare at Aziraphale. He disapproved of being denied a semi-regular excuse to get cozy with his angel as much as he did of the self-neglect.

“Preening’s a traditional form of angelic foreplay,” Aziraphale murmured, returning the glance with seductively lowered lids. “Make it worth my while to straighten them out more often.”

A super-sized pair of crow’s wings materialized, wide as the room if they’d been fully spread, sending empty shot glasses tumbling to the floor. “Don’t let your mouth make promises your wings can’t keep, angel.”

A pair of trumpeter swan’s wings was now taking up what little overhead space remained in the parlour, a few scraps of loose down floating to the floor. “Oh I very much intended to.”

Anathema was staring resolutely the index card she’d just labelled “Ingredients” to block out the shameless celestial flirting. “Linseed oil. Nice and safe, easy to obtain, good solvent. Newt, there’s some spice that the Key of Solomon uses to protect summoners but that also induces menstruation, name’s on the tip of my tongue.”

Her boyfriend was focusing just as hard on the book in front of him. “Um um um...rue? No, it’s says that’s not recommended for topical use. Asafoetida, is that what you were thinking of?”

“Yes there we go. Maybe apply a dab of the mixture across the forehead before moving on the wings, just for a little extra protection.”

The conversation had finally strayed into one of The Areas of Crowley’s Expertise27. His wings flinched in a bit with apprehension. “Wait, _devil’s dung_? I work hard to keep these in shape; you want to smear asafoetida all over them so they stink like I just crawled out of Malebolge??”

Anathema resolutely refused eye contact. “Oil of myrrh—it kept the mummification process from stinking up all of Egypt, you should smell fine, if a little embalmed. Newt, are there any major contraindications listed for juniper berries and fennel powder?”

“Other than ‘not in the same marinade together Maria you kitchen disaster’, it looks like we’re in the clear.”

“Oh man I remember that Christmas. We practiced exorcism rites on the roasting pan and ended up eating grilled cheese sandwiches.” Anathema drew a line under the ingredient list and risked a glance up at the feathery asshole mating display overhead. “Ehhh two pairs of wings that size, figure a pint of base oil per, shall we say, _session_...half teaspoon of the asafoetida to limit the smell...need to add the drams of myrrh oil last to prevent it polymerizing with the base…_There_.”

She brandished the index card with the completed recipe at the wingéd couple. “I can help you compound the first batch, but Tadfield’s a bit of a drive for a condom run. The ingredients are easy enough to buy from an herbalist or online.”

Aziraphale took the card and ran an eye down the list of instructions. His wings tucked down against his shoulder blades as lustful thoughts were pushed aside. “Oh, this should be doable. I had to put together more complicated preparations last time I posed as an apothecary. That was in the 18th century, though, so I’d appreciate your refresher course.” The human couple slumped together in relief, thoroughly ready to be done with their Witchly Duties for tonight.

Crowley draped himself over his angel’s back, their black and white primaries slotting against each other like entwined fingertips. (Aziraphale’s posture remained finishing school perfect under his demon’s weight even as he tilted his head to press their cheeks together.) “_Fuck yeah_. I want back in your soul—safe, sane, and consensual.” He pushed his shades up, golden irises expanding to eclipse any hint of sclera. In order to make what followed binding, it always helped to unveil his demonic nature—however weak a disguise the dark lenses might be. “Seriously, though, we owe you two big time. By my own forked tongue, may it silence me if I break my word, your family’s under our protection for the foreseeable future.” 

Aziraphale let his halo flick on like a cartoon lightbulb, careful not to sear any delicate mortal or infernal retinas. “By my own eyes, may they never again know the beauty of written creation if I break my word, you may call on both or either of us in time of need, for whatever assistance may be in our power to grant.” He snapped his fingers and full shot glasses appeared in four hands simultaneously. “Drink to seal the bargain, my dears.”

By unspoken agreement, they all drained their glasses in a single go. Anathema wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and reached for a full bottle. “Don’t mention it. No, I mean like, REALLY don’t mention it. If the business of the evening is over with, I need to kill at least half of the brain cells that were involved so this doesn’t haunt my dreams.”

Aziraphale and Newt were moving all the angel’s books to the far corner of the room, making space for everyone to kick back and concentrate on drinking away the heavy miasma of embarrassment. Crowley chose to fold his wings back off the material plane so as to be able to fit more comfortably on the settee once Aziraphale rejoined him. “Preach it, Book Witch. Preach it.”

... ... ...

The sun dawned over Tadfield the next morning bright and clear28, slanting through the gaps in Jasmine Cottage’s window blinds to illuminate a tangled pile of sleeping limbs. While the Serpent of Eden hissed slightly on each slow exhale and England’s last Witchfinder Private drooled on the carpet, a large and extremely fluffy calico cat picked her delicate way through empty chip bowls and discarded lime rinds. Her progress was silent and peaceful even as she leapt onto the mantel over the fireplace. Right up until the moment she eyed the bottle of aspirin Anathema had placed there for safekeeping the evening before, stretched out one adorable paw, and punted that sucker right off the edge. 

The bottle landed squarely on Aziraphale’s forehead, who woke with a sputter and a flap of his wings...which smacked Newton across the face, causing him to bolt upright...which rolled Anathema off his chest...who grabbed at the nearest object for support, which happened to be the collar of Crowley’s shirt...who screamed “THE HELLHOUND ATE MY PAPERWORK I SWEAR”. A chorus of severely hungover groans answered. To judge by the volume, both houseguests had ended the evening too snockered to rid their bodies of alcohol and were now too miserable to sort themselves out right away.

The aspirin bottle rolled to a stop right in front of Anathema’s face. The cat landed beside it. The witch sighed. “Yes thank you, Tetra. We’re up now, no need for further intervention.” Tetra gave a self-satisfied mew and rolled over in one of the wider sunbeams.

Newt spit out a white feather and scrubbed at his tongue with the collar of his t-shirt. “Ergh...she’s going to expect kibble soon. You work the cap off the aspirin and I’ll go to see to her bowl and get coffee started?”

Anathema gave him a smile and a wince. “My knight in shining glasses.”

Newt staggered upright, scooping up Crowley’s Raybans from the floor on his way out of the room29. “Any time, love. Back in a mo’.”

In the process of getting his wings back under control, Aziraphale pulled himself into a sitting position, head still pounding. Noticing Crowley’s watery squint against the morning light, he spread his feathers to make a little shade. The look of gratitude he received in return was so powerfully nostalgic he had to look away or risk bursting into tears of joy30. Rubbing Tetra’s silky belly fur provided a welcome distraction. “Well hello there lovely...I take it she’s yours?”

Anathema held the aspirin bottle between her knees and twisted. To her surprise, the cap miraculously popped off on the first try though she hadn’t heard a snap from either angel or demon. “Sort of? She just turned up one day and made herself at home. No collar, no chip, the neighbors had never seen her around before. But hey, no witch without crippling allergies is going to turn away a lucky cat.”

No longer blinded by sun or sentimentality, Crowley settled next to the angel to offer ear scritches31. “Did you say her name is Tetra? If you named your cat after how many legs she has, Adam’s no longer a shoo-in for this year’s Greater Tadfield Area Unimaginative Pet Naming trophy.”

“No, it’s the ‘Tetra’ from ‘Tetragrammaton’.” Anathema was focused on counting out tablets and didn’t notice that her guests had frozen in shock. “Cats have always seemed a little divine to me, you know? They’re full of secrets, expect to be worshipped, can’t ever really be tamed. Tetra’s even more that way than most—always turns up just in the nick of time, got really excited that time we watched _The Sound of Music_, and scares the literal Hell out of Dog.”

Aziraphale and Crowley both looked down at what they sincerely hoped was nothing more than an ordinary house pet. “Mummy?” the demon whispered. Tetra purred at full volume, thumped her plumed tail, and winked one green eye. He recoiled in sphincter-tightening terror.

Aziraphale’s usual sunny expression slid into tight fury. He scooped up the cat and stormed towards the door. “Excuse me, my dears. I need to _have a sodding word with someone_.” The shock of hearing the angel of all beings indulge in a rude word made Anathema jolt up, watching him leave in jaw-dropping confusion.

A moment later indistinct shouting drifted in from the lawn. Newt zipped back from the kitchen, wild-eyed. “We’ve got about two minutes before R.P. Tyler turns up at the gate wanting to know why there’s a disheveled literature professor32 in our back garden having an argument about the structure of the Heavens and the secret hierarchy of angels with our _cat_.”

Crowley unfroze just long enough to snap a screen against mortal eyes and ears around the entire property. If he started screaming uncontrollably in the very near future, it would be convenient to have precautions already in place. 

He wasn’t sure how long his brain spent coiling up under a metaphysical rock waiting for divine lighting to strike but a flick of Anathema’s fingernail against his forehead brought his attention back to Earth. She was holding out his shades33 (wondering where they had got to had been booted far, far down the To Do list but it was nice to have them back on all the same) with the same kind of severe expression that had seen so much use last night. “Okay, so your first job as our household’s Guardian Demon is to explain what in all the kingdoms of the world just happened.”

It took a few tries to get enough spittle together for speech. “There’s a huge chance that the angel and I are just engaged in some PTSD-fueled _folie à deux_. Most likely explanation. Totally in the realm of possibility. He’s got a lot of Feelings to work through still and not many people to talk them out with. Would probably rail all day at Speakers’ Corner if I let him.” He didn’t appear to be convincing himself with this explanation.

“Uh-huhhhh. What’s the minority report?”

“Ngk. We. We just got. Parental blessing? For our union?”

Anathema had just spent the night seeing and imagining a great many things she had never expected and dearly wished would fuck right back off into the ether. The possibility that her cat had been named a little too aptly for everyone’s comfort and might be hosting some aspect of the Almighty was, at this point, just one more terror to let roll over her like so many ocean waves. She sighed from the depths of her soul and made a mental note to start buying higher-quality catnip if the Most High was going to be sticking around in fluffy form.

“_Mazel tov_, you freaks. I’ll take you ring shopping after breakfast.”

* * *

1 As a Proper Witch, Anathema believed in wholesome, all-natural cures to menstrual cramps. Like botany study, willow bark extract, and riding one’s boyfriend on the settee for most of the afternoon. [ return to text ]

2 Or, more accurately, at _Aziraphale_ being called an idiot in front of him. [ return to text ]

3 He was also studiously avoiding the thought that the “barely-deflowered” could just as easily apply to him and the “walking techbane” to Aziraphale. [ return to text ]

4 The angel had been teaching his former sort-of subcontractor traditional bookbinding and restoration as a “sorry for your sort-of job disbanding to shack up with my emergency timeshare partner”. [ return to text ]

5 A very respectable 65 seconds! He might survive being Witch’s Consort yet. [ return to text ]

6 In an act of truly divine restraint, Aziraphale didn’t tell the humans about that _fascinating_ chat on the Ark regarding why one unicorn was not, in fact, _enough. [ return to text ]_

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7 Crowley had occasionally experienced the human interior up close and personal, but those instances had been involuntary, messy, and confusing. How many different kinds of squishy bits did one organism need?? [ return to text ]

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8 The chips could fend for themselves on the arm of the settee. In a room with a drunk and stressed-out Aziraphale, they wouldn’t have to fend for long. [ return to text ]

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9 Well, attempting to lunge. At everyone’s current state of inebriation, it was more a highly-motivated flop. [ return to text ]

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10 As Crowley had long maintained, no horror of Hell would ever outstrip the abysses of the human imagination. [ return to text ]

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11 Sentimental, superstitious angel that he was. [ return to text ]

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12 The unscrupulous distiller responsible for that particular batch of absinthe woke the next morning to find his entire house ankle-deep in green liqueur and a note on the nightstand reading “Consider yourself lucky I’m NOT human.” [ return to text ]

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13 An ancient Egyptian pregnancy test method that was, amazingly, about 70% accurate, provided you were willing to wait two weeks for results by way of germination. [ return to text ]

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14 On this point Anathema was not fully nice and accurate: both angel and demon had suspected the changes at various inopportune moments over the years, then doubled down on the functional alcoholism to forget the suspicions ever happened. [ return to text ]

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15 There had been many Saturday evenings in Aziraphale’s long existence, but only one Saturday Evening. [ return to text ]

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16 From the right ring finger, because if they ever got around to exchanging tokens he was NOT wearing a wedding band on his demonic miracling hand. And no he totally had not put a lot of thought into this already shut up and go away. [ return to text ]

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17 By a quirk of etymological fate, they both knew this alternate meaning through completely different contexts. Aziraphale from printmaking, Anathema from watching American police procedurals. [ return to text ]

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18 With Crowley, this had an above-average chance of being literal, depending on the time of decade. [ return to text ]

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19 [Here, have a definition and a creepy poem about religion!](https://www.guernicamag.com/prisoners-cinema-with-saints-catherine-and-lucy/) [ return to text ]

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20 In demonic terms, this was tantamount to “Marry me all over again, you brilliant sexy bastard.” [ return to text ]

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21 Truly, a question for the ages. [ return to text ]

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22 As was Anathema, who did NOT want to add a sexual assault recovery workshop to the night’s already busy schedule. [ return to text ]

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23 And thus did the demon Crowley acquire a socially awkward kink for churchbells, to go with the ones he already had for reading glasses and oysters. [ return to text ]

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24 Until the Fall of the Grigori, one of the unofficial instructions to angels on their first assignment to earth amounted to [ “For a good time, open a summoning circle to the Principality Aziraphale.”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6WTdTwcmxyo) [ return to text ]

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25 As he’d previously alluded to, Crowley was _not_ great shakes at spellwork. His last attempt to get out of visiting Hell by reporting to Hastur via summoning circle had resulted in a very confusing few minutes for a harried waitress named Hester working [ a dive bar in Michigan](http://www.hellsaloon.com/). [ return to text ]

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26 Witchcraft always works better when there’s a rainbow unicorn involved. Trufax. [ return to text ]

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27 To wit, in order of acquisition: astronomy, nagging doubts, horticulture, oenophilia, and Internet trolling. [ return to text ]

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28 While lately the ex-Antichrist was trying to keep the village’s weather patterns more in line with non-magical Oxfordshire, Brian’s cricket team had an important match in the afternoon. It wouldn’t rain that day unless Armageddon came back for second helpings. [ return to text ]

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29 The demon hadn’t yet gotten around to looking for them, still trying to recall (a) whether human bodies had eyelids, and if so, (b) how many and (c) which direction they blinked in. Once his eyeballs were moistened it would become a higher priority. [ return to text ]

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30 Which he was normally all for but his entire body was in a state of OW FUCK at the moment and a runny nose wouldn’t improve matters any. [ return to text ]

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31 Cats were an exception to animals’ general distrust of his demonic nature, as they were also indolent slit-pupilled agents of chaos with little regard for the laws of Heaven, Hell, or physics, and recognized a kindred spirit when they saw one. [ return to text ]

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32 Even miles away from the Dreaming Spires, this was still Oxfordshire. A man of Aziraphale’s apparent age and personal style came with a presumed occupation. [ return to text ]

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33 Newt had gone back to the kitchen to add a sizeable hair-of-the-dog to everyone’s coffee and cook stress pancakes. Anathema would fill him in on anything of importance later, hopefully within reach of a fainting couch. [ return to text ]

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**Author's Note:**

> Samyaza/Shemyaza/Sêmîazâz/like a dozen more alternate spelllings was the leader of the apocryphal Watchers, a group of Earth-assigned angels who decided knocking up some mortal women and ruling over humans was a lot more fun than just hanging around trying to be good influences. The knocking-up lead to the birth of the violent giants known as Nephilim, who were supposedly responsible for a lot of the wickedness the Flood was sent to clean up. _The Book of Enoch_ doesn't attribute the whole sorry series of events to Samyaza having a nasty row with his regular booty call angel, but this is the Good Omens-verse, where everything's made up and theology doesn't matter.
> 
> All of the ingredients Anathema names in the contraceptive (other than the base oil) have actually been used in various cultures and eras to prevent or end pregnancies but DO NOT attempt this kind of homegrown birth control if you aren't a knowledgeable witch helping two beings with nowhere else to turn. We have the Pill and Planned Parenthood now for a reason—**see a doctor for the sake of your own health.**


End file.
